If You Only Walk Long Enough 2/2 - for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snitchnipped
Aug. 25th, 2011 04:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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narniaexchangeTitle: If You Only Walk Long Enough
Author:lady_songsmith
Recipient:snitchnipped
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: In which Edmund and Susan discover that Rabadash manages to be a pain even when he’s an ass.
Part 1
That ride changed things. He wasn’t certain whether the queen opened up to him or if his eyes were simply opened to what was already there, but from that day Peridan was aware of a change in her. She was still as gracious and commanding as ever, of course, and he doubted any of Narnia’s guests suspected aught amiss. But he saw, as the guests did not, as likely only her siblings and perhaps her guards saw, that the weight of duty pressed on her overmuch, and the Cair had become a trap for her. As the days passed, it became more evident that she didn’t want to be inside. Her restlessness was evident, and he wished wholeheartedly for Bacchus to visit. His queen could have used that wild release. But no Narnian god is tame, to appear on command, and Bacchus least of all. The days wore on and he did not come, so Peridan’s queen had to content herself with picnics and mayings and dancing amongst bonfires. No hunts; it was not the season and the foreigners had trouble telling animals from Animals. Instead Queen Susan organized ‘hunts’ for other things: rare flowers, oddly shaped stones, and once she arranged a competition, brought by the sovereigns from Spare Oom, which sent the court hither and yon after a motley collection of items and which she termed a ‘scavenger hunt’. The competitors certainly behaved like scavengers, quarreling over every little bit they find.
“Competition,” she observed, as they rode slowly along after the pack, “inevitably reveals a man’s nature.”
Peridan thought this over before he spoke, for he’d heard the sentiment before but did not think his queen meant it the same way. In most nations they would say the victor was the best man. But this was Narnia, where everyone from the hummingbirds to the centaurs were valued for their natures, and he had once heard Queen Lucy laugh herself sick at a proposal of trial by combat. He watched the two lords from Telmar cruelly spurring their horses on, and felt his lips twist in disgust. No Narnian would ever treat a horse so, dumb or talking. “Because a man displays his character in the manner by which he competes?” he ventured, and was rewarded by one of her brilliant smiles.
“Just so,” she answered. “It is not for our love of battle that we host tournaments here.”
He knew tournaments were a common entertainment when important guests visited. He had even fought in a few himself. But Peridan had never considered it was more than a tradition shared with most eastern nations, nor had he realized – as he did now – that the tournaments always followed the guests, never the guests the tourneys. He thought of the last one Narnia had hosted, and saw a flaw in this theory of characters.
He opened his mouth to say this, then hesitated. Ought he bring up Rabadash? As far as he knew, no one had breathed his name directly to her since their return. Even the envoys so keen to discuss (complain about) his fate spoke to her of ‘the Tisroc’s heir.’ She had raised the topic of tournaments. Peridan had never known her to run from unpleasantness before. “Not all men show their natures, though,” he said, hoping he was not making a grave mistake. “For Rabadash conducted himself admirably at tourney, and yet proved a black villain.”
The queen’s guards, loping along beside them, skewered him with fierce glares, but he kept his eyes on Queen Susan’s face, waiting for her response. She had not gasped or paled when he spoke the name, nor did she tremble with fear or rage. He waited.
“It’s true a man can hide much of his nature, if he wishes to,” she said. Her tone was light, easy; Peridan relaxed. Her guard did not, but he thought they would forgive him eventually. “It must be planned, though. To conceal some aspect of yourself you must push forward some other facet. To lie outright is impossible to sustain.”
He turned that over, feeling there was something wrong with it but unable to say what. “Even if you are a very good actor?” He thought of the spies he knew Narnia used. Not all of them were Animals small enough to go unnoticed.
“Have you ever spoken with any of the troupes that perform here?”
That wasn’t quite what he’d meant. Acting on stage was a different matter – wasn’t it? He admitted that he hadn’t, at least not about their craft, and the queen smiled. “You should,” she said, “it’s informative. A successful actor never plays anyone but himself. It’s just a matter of finding that part closest to the character, and bringing it forward.” They watched a lady from the Seven Isles flirting with a man from Vraeld – successfully distracting him while her teammate made off with a shed antler. “Rabadash could not hide his arrogance, but there are few princes who do not suffer from that sin. To hide his cruelty, though…” She sighed. “Did you note how curious he was, how eager to see all things Narnian?”
“Yes,” Peridan agreed. “I remember I thought it odd, for a prince of Calormen to be so taken with things of the barbarian north.”
“And as you know, he does scorn us. But the curiosity was not a lie; he has both a fascination with the exotic and a desire to know things.” She pursed her lips, considering. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he wishes to have no secrets kept from him, for he certainly does not seek knowledge for its own sake. Still, many a king has raised libraries on the strength of such desires. So. To cover one trait, another brought forward. That it made him seem more friendly to Narnia than his father did no harm either.”
“Is that how he fooled the Beasts?” Peridan glanced at the Serval pacing beside his queen. Little escaped the sharp noses of Narnian Beasts. He had wondered why Rabadash’s motives were such a surprise to the king and queen. They might have gone regardless, but he would have expected them to be fully briefed.
“Makeda?” Queen Susan prompted.
The big cat sighed, obviously reluctant to discuss such a failure. But she said, “The Calormene prince smelt of deception, but no worse than any other foreign dignitary. They’re all hiding something,” she added in disgust. Peridan smiled slightly. The Narnian preference for honesty was truly a Narnian trait. Even Archenland and Galma twisted their tongues around lies more readily. “Beyond that, he was sincere. What he said outright was truth when he spoke it, and he hid his cruelty well.”
“In Calormen,” he started, then stopped, reconsidering the thought. And the wording. Particularly the wording – the Guard was ready to skewer him as it was; if he started tossing around anything that sounded like an accusation he wouldn’t be allowed within shouting distance of the queen ever again. Besides which… “There weren’t any Beasts with us in Calormen,” he said slowly. “Only Sallowpad and a few other Birds.” Their majesties had even forgone the feline and canine half of their guard, something practically unheard of. The monarchs always had one Beast with them. The Panther Narai had even condescended to wear a collar, once, that he might pretend to be queen Susan’s pet, in Navarus. “You did not have the benefit of their perception.” In more ways than one, he thought, recalling a rumor that had swept their embassy. How had she been certain her… visits with the prince were safe? It wasn’t his place to ask. Even to think about it was presumptuous, really. Hoping he wasn’t blushing, Peridan forced his thoughts back to politics. Pure politics, that is, not – Now he was certain he was blushing. Desperately hoping to change the subject, he blurted, “Why were there no beasts with us?”
“Good question,” Makeda muttered.
“Makeda,” Queen Susan warned. “We have had this conversation.”
“And I didn’t like it then, either! Why should we bow to the Tisroc’s wishes?” She was all but spitting, every inch the angry cat. “We never have before! Even when no one remembered Narnia had talking Animals, and we had to pretend to be dumb beasts so as not to frighten them overmuch. And we went to Calormen with both of the kings! Why not this time?”
“Makeda –“
“I would like to know too, your majesty,” Peridan put in humbly, “if you would tell me. And I have not had this argument before, as Makeda clearly has.”
She turned her attention from Makeda to him, the faint signs of temper fading. “True.” She glanced across the field, at the questing nobles, then, satisfied they were happily occupied, turned back to Peridan. “The Tisroc specifically requested it, for the comfort of his court. Given that we sought his good will, it would have been impolitic to disregard a direct request.”
Peridan wondered if he might get a different answer did he ask King Edmund. Something to keep in mind. “I can see where that would be difficult,” he said, “but I had not thought Narnia would consent to reduce her defense at another lord’s request.”
“Had it compromised our safety we should not have agreed,” Queen Susan replied. “The Tisroc did not ask us to forgo our Guard, only to choose them more selectively. It was an acceptable compromise.”
But it had compromised her safety. If a Beast had been with them, been in her private councils with the prince as her Guard must be, surely his deception would have come out earlier? Before he had proposed that their negotiations be sealed by marriage, well before the queen had – considered the matter so thoroughly. Not sure how to say this, he glanced at Makeda. Judging from her bristled fur, the queen was the only one who thought the arrangement had been satisfactory. “If you had to do it again,” he began impulsively, then stopped. There was no polite way to finish that sentence, was there?
"I should do the same," she said. "We talked it to death beforehand, Lord Peridan. None of us wished to leave half our Guard behind. But you do not begin an embassy of peace by bringing those your host has specifically uninvited."
"They would have sensed--"
"I am aware." Her voice had gone frosty.
He reined in, dropping back deferentially. "My apologies, your majesty."
"Consider, Lord Peridan, that we have already reviewed the matter at length,"
It was sometimes difficult to tell, outside formal court, when the kings and queens were employing the royal plural and when they were referring to their family. In this case, though he was certain they had discussed it together, he rather suspected the former, which made it a show of temper. He bowed as well as one could from the saddle. "Of course, your majesty. My tongue outpaced my thoughts: forgive me."
The queen nodded, but there was no smile to soften it, nor did she invite him back to her side. Instead she looked away, then, as is remarking on the weather, said, "We must attend to our guests." She put her heels to the horse's flanks and was well away before Peridan had finished bowing his acknowledgment of the dismissal.
* * *
Several weeks after their return from Calormen, the influx of visitors finally overwhelmed Susan’s patience. “If they hate us so much, why are they all here?”
“It won’t last forever,” Edmund said, putting down the trade reports she’d given him to read. They were alone in the small library on the royal wing, working their way through a thick pile of correspondence. “When he changes back, safe and sound, a lot of it will die down.” Susan said nothing, though the stab of her pen against the paper was eloquent. “In the meantime, we should turn this to our advantage.”
“Half of the eastern nations hate us, Edmund,” Susan said tartly. “There isn’t much advantage in that.”
“They don’t hate us. They fear us. There’s a great deal of advantage to be had there.”
Susan tipped her head to one side, her gaze distant. “Oderint, dum metuant?” she said slowly, pulling the syllables from air.
The words seemed familiar to Edmund, but it wasn’t any tongue he knew. Something from Before; nothing else had that queer sort of deja vu. He shook his head, and Susan blinked free of the reverie. “Do you think it’s quite wise to encourage that fear? It may turn on us.”
Edmund sat back in his chair, considering. Susan’s caution was never unfounded; it was just a question of whether the benefits outweighed the risks. “I don’t propose to encourage them to fear us,” he answered, thinking as he spoke. “But so long as they do, it can’t hurt to implant a few ideas.” His sister turned a pointed look on him, laying down her pen with precision, and he amended, “It will only hurt if we’re not careful.”
“What ideas, specifically, were you considering?”
“Just the truth: Rabadash brought it on himself by threatening us. We have no quarrel with anyone who treats us with the respect they’re all so keen to claim for themselves.” All right, perhaps he’d heard that speech from ambassadors a few too many times. With a conscious effort he pushed the bitterness from his voice. “If they treat in good faith they have nothing to fear -- but we will defend ourselves. And our allies,” he continued. “It might be worth pointing out that it was Archenland he was -- sentenced -- in. Narnia was only there as an ally.”
Amusement twinkled in Susan’s eyes. “As though you didn’t want the sentencing of him yourself.”
“True.” He was trying not to indulge pleasant fantasies of having the prince horsewhipped back to Tashbaan. Aslan had decided, after all. And he supposed Rabadash would find it humiliating. Edmund didn’t see what was so terrible about being an animal, personally. “But Lune had first rights.” He sat up, reaching for the pitcher, and poured them both more cider. “Which might not be a bad point to make.”
“And transfer this annoyance to the shoulders of an ally?” He heard the lightly scolding note in her voice, but also interest.
“Some of it?” he offered. “It is interesting that we’re taking all the blame for Aslan’s actions in Archenland.”
Susan raised one shoulder in eloquent shrug. “People hear ‘lion’, they think Narnia. Something we haven’t been at pains to alter.”
“I should say not.” Just from where he sat he could count five images of lions; seven if you counted the signets he and Susan both wore. Even their currency bore the motif, and since they’d laid claim to most of the northern Ocean, their coin had become a standard, much as Calormen’s crescent in the south. When debts from Brigweald to Narrowhaven were counted in Lions, Edmund supposed he couldn’t be surprised by the automatic association. “Still, I’d like to know just what they think we could do. Call a god to heel?”
“Our pet demon, rather. Or illusion, depending on whose stories you prefer.” Susan was utterly placid, sipping her cider like tea and gazing over Edmund’s head out the window.
Edmund snorted, and tipped his chair back on two legs, kicking one foot up on another chair. (The table would be more comfortable, but the subsequent scolding would not.) “Just because their local gods prefer to take human form...”
“Did you read Chione’s treatise on that?” Susan broke in, snapping back into focus. She set her cup down and leaned forward over the table. “She has a notion about the gods being shaped by their worshipers --”
“Su,” he interrupted, before she could get going. “Theology later?” He was sorry to say it, since as it happened, he had read Chione‘s latest work, and he would love to discuss it with Susan. Lucy’s interest in theology began and ended with Aslan, and Peter claimed the subject gave him a headache, contenting himself instead with the mere practicalities, like knowing never to mention a number of gods in a mixed group of Navarus and Vraeld -- one of the many things they fought about was whether there were eleven or twenty-two gods, and they could and would argue all day over Vested Duality -- if they didn’t come to blows first.
Susan caught herself, sitting back and arranging her features placidly. "Quite right." She paused, ordering her thoughts, and resumed, "I do see the merits of your argument, brother. Certainly those wary of giving offense have been easier to deal with, and I should like to see broader policy favor Narnia. I am not convinced, however, that encouraging wariness which is already shading into resentment is the wisest course. Furthermore -- on a purely practical level -- spreading such rumors will be difficult, given these injunctions against Beasts." Her lips purses in distaste at the very idea, and Edmund agreed -- banning good Narnians on the basis of their form, indeed!
"It would be more complicated, admittedly," he said. "But the bulk of the whisper-work falls to smaller Beasts. They cannot possibly prevent every bird or squirrel from crossing the border, talking or dumb."
"And when they betray themselves by speaking, as they will have to do?"
"Susan," Edmund said patiently, "If they do their job right, no one will know who was speaking. You can't start pro-Narnian rumors by putting them in the mouths of Narnians."
"It's dangerous."
"It's always been dangerous." He traced a nail over the engraved patterns on his goblet. "We do have more humans available for this sort of work these days, though. You might take some when you go."
"Go?" Susan echoed, blinking at him guilelessly.
Edmund made an impatient noise. "Come now, sister, to whom do you think you're speaking? You're planning a trip west - I haven't worked out whether it's Vraeld or Navarus yet, but that hardly matters to the topic at hand."
"Fentel, actually," Susan murmured.
He acknowledged the correction with a nod. "Anywhere you go in the west would be a potential site for seeding rumors; if we put a few of my better people in your retinue they can do the tavern-rounds while you're charming the nobility."
"And when they get caught and I have to explain to King Farn why I've brought spies into his kingdom?"
He mimed being shot to the heart. "I wouldn't send you with anyone fool enough to get caught! What sort of brother d'you take me for?"
She raised her goblet to drink, but not before he'd seen the corner of her lips twitch upwards. Counting it a success, he dropped the hand and the act. "My people know the risks," he told her seriously. "You can disavow all knowledge; they won't expect otherwise."
"Will it be believed, though?"
"Officially or unofficially? Su, the game hasn't changed. Do you really need me to tell you these things?"
"Maybe I'd just like to have all the angles covered before we get in over our heads again!" Susan snapped, slapping her cup down so hard the cider sloshed over the rim.
Edmund started back, setting his chair rocking precariously. Hastily tipping it back to four legs, he stared at his sister. "Su," he began carefully, "there was no way to predict that Rabadash—"
She cut him off with an oath so foul it made his eyes bug out. He'd not heard that one outside a few dockside taverns of a particular reputation; he didn't want to imagine how his sister learned it. "No way to predict?" she echoed. "The way he treated his servants, commoners, nobles not in his favor -- we didn't know that? We couldn't find out?"
"We've made alliance with worse," Edmund pointed out tensely. "We knew he was an arse; we didn't know he was an idiot."
Susan gripped the edge of the table till her knuckles went white. "That idiot nearly had Anvard. It was sheer luck Lady Aravis heard his plans, and if those two children hadn't raced all the way here to warn us—"
"Then we would have called out the army and met him at the border. Two hundred horse is a strike force, not an invasion; they would not have held Anvard for long."
"He wouldn't need to hold it long to kidnap us," Susan snapped back. He could see her breathing hard, struggling for calm. "And then ransom--"
"Peter would have destroyed him," Edmund broke in gently, keeping his voice level and even. "You know he'd never bargain with someone who threatened any of us. Rabadash was a fool to think we'd forgive such a thing even if no blood was spilled. Hell, Lucy would have been hard on his heels long before Peter got back from the north."
"I don't want Lucy in Calormen either!" she shouted, and Edmund froze. There was more going on than he'd realized. Maybe you shouldn't go, he almost said, bit his tongue on it just in time. Questioning her competency certainly wouldn't help.
"Susan," he said instead, very quietly, "we would never have allowed him to lay a hand on you."
She shot him such a disgusted glare that he recoiled involuntarily. "Very noble of you, brother, but I can defend my own honor -- such as it is."
That caught him, and he swallowed his first response, waiting until his brain was properly engaged before he spoke: "It wasn't your fault." The glare intensifies, she opened her mouth but he put up a hand to stop her. "It doesn't help. I know. And Lion knows I'm not going to argue with you about it. But it needed to be said at least once. so. Now it's been said." He took a deep breath, arranging phrases in his head. "You can't prevent a repetition by second-guessing every move. Plan for it instead." Reaching across the table, he pried her fingers from the edge and twined his own with them. "If Farn does take offense at our people, what can we do?"
"Not abandon them," she gritted out, tugging at their joined hands.
"They know the risks." He kept his voice steady, refusing to let go. "Susan, you aren't thinking like a queen."
Strangely, that seemed to calm her. Edmund watched, wary, as the tight line of her lips relaxed and her hand went quiet in his. "You're right."
He eyed her, not quite trusting this sudden calm. "Well, it had to happen sometime," he joked, trying to make light of it.
She smiled thinly, without mirth. "I must remember my duty. We don't have the luxury of indulging ourselves."
That wasn't what he'd meant, but before he could draw breath to argue, Susan continued, "If worse comes to worst, I suppose we could claim sanctuary. Do remind your people of it, too."
"I shall, though I doubt many would take it." He racked his brain for the details of Fentel's long-standing and often-used traditions of sanctuary. "Don't they require an oath of faith?"
"Yes," she answered breezily, "but it can be to any god, if there isn't an appropriate temple nearby."
Edmund frowned. There's a nuance missing there, he was sure of it, but he couldn't call it to mind. "I would prefer not to be dependent on the Fentelisi for your protection. We must ensure you have a choice of exit routes -- swift and discreet, by preference."
Susan laughed mirthlessly. “Since when has anything we did been discreet?”
Edmund raised a brow. That was cynical even for one of them, and moreover, inaccurate — for a woman who valued precision as much as Susan did, she’d been making fairly wild statements today. All in all it added up to a worrying portrait. “Not everything has to be a pageant,” he said, deliberately keeping his tone light. She wouldn’t be jollied, but scolding rarely worked either. He’d already used up his luck on that score. Calm and reasonable was the best bet. “It only has to be a secret until it’s too late for Fentel to do anything.”
She was quiet for a time. Edmund tried not to hold his breath, waiting. “How were you planning to exit an entire royal delegation in any sort of secrecy?”
“Well,” he began, fumbling a little.
Anticipating him — at least that had not changed — she said, “I would not leave anyone to the mercies of an offended prince.”
He could see the moment Susan heard — really heard — what she had said. Her eyes widened slightly and a faint blush tinged her cheeks. Her lips parted, and for a moment Edmund thought she might correct herself but then she closed her mouth firmly, lips pressed into a tight line. He said, “There’s a difference between abandoning and prioritizing, Su.”
“I know,” she admitted, but the high color was still in her cheeks.
Very softly, Edmund said, “I can’t let you come to harm.”
Mistake. She flared up, glaring fiercely at him. “I do not need to be protected! I certainly do not need anyone to make grand sacrifices on my behalf!”
“You’re a queen,” he snapped right back. “You don’t get a choice about it!”
“I’ve never asked —”
“You don’t have to ask! It’s just the way things are, the way they’ve been since the moment we stumbled into the Winter.” He checked, then, and softened his tone. “You don’t have to like it, either. Lion knows I don’t. But you do have to accept it. Or I’ll lock you in a room with Dhara,” he added wryly. Peter’s Cheetah bodyguard and the head of the Royal Guard was a formidable personality, and had strong opinions on her sovereigns risking themselves carelessly.
“I’ve had enough of people dying for us,” Susan said.
* * *
“Susan is going to Fentel.”
King Edmund’s announcement came in the midst of a sparring match, and Peridan nearly missed blocking a swipe that would have taken his head off in a real fight. “I had not heard,” he grunted, struggling to lever the king’s blade away from his throat. He finally got a good shove in, muscles screaming, and the king disengaged, coming back around with a cut to Peridan’s thigh.
“I want you to go with her,” he said as they found a rhythm again.
“I? Your majesty –“
“I need someone I can trust.” He launched a quick series of strikes that pressed Peridan back a few steps before he could find an opening to return the attack. “She won’t have any Beasts –“
“Again?” he exclaimed, dismayed. His blade faltered; Edmund attacked.
“Surely you’ve heard half the western lands have banned Talking Animals from their domains.” Peridan had no idea how he was holding up a serious conversation and a full-speed spar. “They won’t make exception even for a royal delegation.”
“Why go, then?” he protested, attacking fiercely in hopes of ending the bout so he could devote his attention to the discussion. A man needed all the wits he could muster to keep up with the Just King.
“Because someone has to assure them that we’re not planning an invasion, or coup, or whatever it is they think we were trying with Rabadash.” Edmund feinted high, kicking out at the same time. Peridan’s leg went out from under him and he fell forward to one knee, freezing as he felt the king’s blade behind his neck. Well, he had wanted the fight ended.
“Yield,” he said, and the blade vanished. The king gave me a hand up, shaking his head.
“Too polite. You still had your sword; you could have hamstrung me before I finished the upswing.”
“Yes, sire,” Peridan said sheepishly. He did tend to forget they weren’t under tourney rules. It seemed dishonorable to use such tactics in a friendly bout, but both kings (and the army commanders) believed in training as they fought.
They collected water gratefully from a servant standing outside the ring, leaning against the fencing to drink. “I trust you won’t be polite to anyone coming after my sister,” Edmund said.
Reminded, Peridan turned back to the last point. “Why her majesty? If you or the High King were to go, she could stay here where it’s safe.”
“I would like to hear you say that to Susan,” he replied wryly. “But only from a distance.”
Peridan thought of the conversation they’d had about Calormen and winced. “She would not want to be sheltered, would she?”
“Never,” Edmund agreed.
“Sire,” he began, a little shyly, “why do we allow others – first the Tisroc, now King Farn – to dictate which of our own people may travel with us?”
Edmund looked at him oddly; he had the uncomfortable sense he had asked a more foolish question than he knew. “Why do you give ground when your opponent attacks hard?”
“Many reasons,” Peridan began. Among them simply being unable to hold, if the opponent was stronger. But he doubted that was what the king meant. “To find a more advantageous position for counter-attack. To lure him onto worse ground. To lull him into overconfidence. To let him spend his energy while you gain a respite.”
“Exactly,” Edmund said, satisfied. “There are any number of advantages in letting an adversary believe he has the momentum.”
“But this is not a battle,” he objected, “and we hamper ourselves by abandoning the Beasts’ good senses.”
“Other courts manage without them.” But Peridan could tell, from the way Edmund would not look at him, that he agreed.
“Other courts are not Narnia, sire. Should we not use all that we are?”
“Sometimes it’s better not to show your full hand.”
Peridan knew he was pushing, but he didn’t try to censor himself. Something deep with urged him to ask these things, to understand. “By choice, certainly. Is it the same to be forbidden the use of half a deck?”
Edmund tipped his head, slanting a sly look sideways at him. “Who says we’re playing by their rules?”
“Sire?”
He gave Peridan a patient look. “Of course I’m not sending her without any Animals, not after Calormen. But they’ll have to be small, and they’ll have to go in secret. That rules out anyone in the Guard.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling foolish indeed. “Then…”
“I need someone to protect her, someone unquestionably loyal. And—“ he checked himself suddenly, glancing around. “Walk with me, Peridan.”
Confused, but willing, Peridan fell into step beside him. He led them away from the busy training yards, out into the extensive grounds that surrounded Cair Paravel. “She’ll have the guard, of course,” the king said. “Those with something of a human shape, at least. But I fear the decrees regarding Beasts are only the beginning of this prejudice. I would not be at all surprised if Satyrs and Centaurs and the like were refused entrance to certain meetings at court – so I would place humans in my sister’s retinue.” He gazed seriously at Peridan, his eyes dark. “Should my fears come to pass, you would be her Guard, Lord Peridan. I would put her life in your hands with this assignment -- I trust you will not fail me.”
Stunned speechless, Peridan could not respond at first. Eventually he worked moisture into a fear-dry mouth, and said, “You honor me, majesty. I would give my life to defend the queen.”
“I know,” Edmund replied, serene. “That is why I chose you.” He tilted his head, running an assessing gaze over the nobleman. “You may refuse the assignment, my lord. I do not believe I made that clear before. We would not force you to accept such a mission.”
Peridan shook his head. “I know, your majesty. And I accept gladly. I wish to see Queen Susan safe as much as you do.” They walked a while longer, and Peridan said, “Is it such a secret that you want humans with her majesty?”
“Hm? Oh, no.” He shook himself out of deep thought. “No, that isn’t the secret.” Glancing behind him, he asked a silent question of his Guard. Peridan had scarcely noticed them following; one became used to the monarchs’ shadows. The Dog listened a moment, sniffed the air, then nodded at the king.
“Thank you, friend. The confidence, Peridan, is that I want someone who understands Su with her.” The tight rein he usually kept on his feelings loosened when he spoke. He looked, for a moment, impossibly young. Usually Peridan forgot that he had a half-decade on King Edmund; aside from that first, shocking meeting on the flagship, the kings had never struck him as children. Now they were men by anyone’s standards, the difference of years seemed less than insignificant. But with his concern for his sister writ across his face, Peridan remembered Edmund was but five-and-twenty, like the young naval officers he helped train. He thought of what he might say to one of them, but his mind kept getting stuck on the fact that it was Queen Susan they discussed. “You think she needs… a friend?”
“I do.” The mask slid back into place. Peridan felt a guilty relief at its restoration. Edmund clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a few steps, eyes on the stone path beneath his feet. “She’s… not been herself of late. But I think you know that already.” He lifted his head to look straight at Peridan, who flushed, feeling the guilty schoolboy. The king laughed, not unkindly. “I’ve noticed your attention to her mood, Peridan. And – I’m grateful. I…” Incredibly, he seemed to struggle with words. “I am not the best company of late. It is good she has someone else.”
He felt his cheeks burn hotter still. “Oh, well,” he stammered. “I’m sure their majesties—“
“Are considerate and concerned, but oft over-fond of ‘cheering up.’”
Peridan frowned. “I would have thought her majesty’s trouble an overabundance of merry company.”
“Precisely.” Edmund favored Peridan with such a satisfied look that he stood a hand’s breadth taller. “And if she is determined to go to Fentel and charm the westrons back into allies, I want her to have someone with her who knows when to be silent.” Then he blushed. “That didn’t come out right.”
He couldn’t help it; he broke down laughing. He had never seen King Edmund so out of sorts. He stared at Peridan a moment, then laughed with him, shaking his head at his own folly. “I have had that conversation with her majesty,” Peridan assured him breathlessly, when he could speak again. “I take your meaning, sire. And I would be honored to assist in any way I can.”
“Good!” Edmund clapped him on the shoulder. The hand lingered and squeezed, and Peridan felt the gratitude he did not speak. “You’ll have to join Susan in the planning sessions – I warn you, there will be a great many of them –“
“I don’t mind,” he replied mildly, and listened to the king sketch the trip for him. If he was going to accompany the queen, there was one thing he had to do first.
* * *
Over the years, by trial and error, Peter had learned to adapt himself to Susan's moods, sometimes even better than Edmund, despite the fact that he understood them less. He didn't speak at first when he came to join her on the broad balcony outside the reception hall, just wrapped an arm around her waist and stood watching the waves with her. She relaxed and leaned into that support, enjoying the quiet. But finally it had to break, so before he could grow too impatient, she said, "Talking me into or out of something?"
She heard the chuckle rumble in his chest beside her ear. "Just making sure you're certain about it. No one would blame you if you wanted to stay home for a while, you know."
"It needs to be done, Peter. Forget the trade routes -- the bad feelings will fester. We don't need another war."
"It doesn't have to be you, though."
Susan sighed. "I rather think it does," she said. "Lucy won't hear any criticism of Aslan, and Edmund's temper is too chancy these days."
He was silent for a moment. "I could go."
She twisted a little, craning her neck to look at him. "You hate leaving Narnia!"
Peter made a face at her. "So do you," he said, and she couldn't deny it. "We do it anyway."
"Mm." She considered, watching the waves rolling into the beach below. Far out in the water, dark shapes broke the surface. Too distant to see, in this light, whether they were merfolk or oceanids. "No," she said slowly, eyes still on the swimmers. "If you go, it's too much of a threat. They'll see the army even if you don't take any soldiers."
He sighed. "You're right, I know. I had to offer."
"Thank you, Peter."
"You do realize they'll hear of him changing back while you're there?"
"I'm counting on it," Susan said with great satisfaction. "He'll change back, none of us will be anywhere near him, and perhaps these sorcery rumors will die down. And I can point out that spending a single season shape-shifted is a mild punishment for invasion."
"Even for a prince?" Evidently Peter had been hearing the 'affront to royal dignity' arguments as well.
"We didn't kill him, maim him, or even demand ransom or recompense. Permanently changing him would be another matter; that's as good as dead, they way they see it. I doubt they really believe he'll change back, right now."
"Edmund said something similar." Peter turned and caught her by the shoulders, gazing down at her seriously. "If anything goes wrong, Su, you'll be in the middle of it."
"I know," she replied, tilting her head back to meet his eyes more comfortably. "I can't imagine his pride will keep him from appearing at the temple, though, so unless there's something Aslan didn't mention..."
"I'll leave a company in Lantern Waste. You'll have Birds with you?" She thought about pointing out that Animals of all kinds were barred from Fentel, decided it wasn't worth it, and nodded. "Good. Don't hesitate to send word. We can have griffins to you in a few hours, if need be."
Susan laughed softly, leaning her head against her brother's shoulder. "We've gone to war with less planning than this."
His arms wrapped around her, warm, comforting, and he dropped a kiss on top of her head. "We don't stint on the important things."
"This is an important thing?"
"Making sure you come home will always be important."
* * *
The difficulty in apologizing to Queen Susan was getting her to hear it. The first time Peridan tried, she waved him off with a smile anyone could have seen was insincere, and told him to forget it. It was nearly a week of stewing in deeply uncomfortable meetings before he could obtain another private audience. He had thought long on their conversation, and he wanted her to know he understood why she had been angered by his words. It was only when he finally succeeded in conveying this to her, making it clear he was not merely apologizing for making her angry, that she consented to hear him out. The sincere forgiveness he received was a weight lifted from his shoulders.
After that, the meetings became significantly less strained, though King Edmund was right, there were a lot of them. Peridan was more content to sit through them now that he no longer had to watch the queen pretending all was well between them. But then he discovered that Susan was not the only royal planning for the trip, when he was summoned to a small meeting with King Edmund and a handful of advisors to discuss security for the journey, and contingency plans for a reprise of Calormen.
“The court will go with you as far as Lantern Waste,” Edmund told him. “Lucy’s all a-twitter over the news Tumnus brought back - she’s determined to find the White Stag. That will give us an excuse to take along a few people who can slip quietly over the border before you, and be in place if you need them.”
It wasn’t the plans that were the problem, though. He fully approved of them. It was the other request the king had made that troubled his thoughts, and began to distract him at odd moments, even in private meeting with Queen Susan to go over the various personages they were to cultivate on the trip.
“Don’t tell Susan,” King Edmund had warned. “She won’t like it — and Lion willing, you won’t have to use any of this. She’ll never know.”
He was honored by the trust the king placed in him, and he wanted the queen kept safe — of course he did. Still, it sat ill to be keeping secrets from her, secrets that affected her directly. She was no child to be coddled so, and he knew how much stock she placed in information of all kinds. She would undoubtedly be furious, did she learn of it. He imagined explaining King Edmund’s plans in close, anxious council, as it had been in Tashbaan. A shudder ran through him; the argument would be fierce and brutal and he hadn’t a prayer of winning it.
“Peridan?” The queen had broken off her explanation and was gazing at him in some concern. “Are you chilled? We can shut the windows, if you like.”
“No, your majesty, the air is pleasant,” he replied quietly. “It was a passing thought, only. Please forgive my inattention.”
“Of course,” she said graciously, but rather than picking up the thread of the topic, she pushed aside her papers. “Is it anything I can help with?”
He started, then tried on a smile. “Half the kingdom’s troubles are not enough; you would take on mine also?” The light jest fell a little flat, perhaps because there was too much truth in it. He had no desire to add to her burdens.
“I would have you feel you can tell me anything.” She smiled at him, her eyes warm. He could feel a blush creep up his neck, and looked away.
“I… should be honest with your majesty.”
“I would hope so,” she encouraged gently.
Quickly, before he could get lost in a maze on conflicting loyalties again, Peridan let the tale spill out. “King Edmund has arranged certain plans to ensure your safety in Fentel. He asked me not to tell you —”
“He knows I would object to them.” She didn’t sound angry. He glanced up, and found her gazing out the windows at the westering light. “We had a… discussion about it some days ago.” Abruptly she turned back to him. “Why tell me?”
Startled, the truth dropped from his lips without thought. “Because you asked for honesty.” He shrugged slightly. “How can I ask for your trust if I keep secrets from you?”
She smiled brightly, and covered his hand with hers where it rested on the table. “Thank you, Peridan,” she said, leaning in slightly. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
In that moment, he felt hesitation fall away, shed snakeskin. Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers, soft, chaste. She allowed it -- even, he thought, answered -- for long moments. Then her hands rose between then and, resting on his shoulders, pushed him gently but firmly away.
Peridan felt his cheeks heat and heard the thrum of blood in his own ears. "I'm sorry," he said -- blurted, really. "I don't know what -- I do apologize, your majesty." He didn't quite dare meet her eyes, embarrassed by my forwardness. "I should not have presumed --"
But her hand covered his again gently, and she said, "Peridan," in such tones that he found the courage to look up. There was no anger in her eyes, nor fear either, which would have been worse. He realized then that the guard at her feet hadn't even twitched, and perhaps more to the point, the queen had not produced any blades. He had seen both queens deal with unwanted advances: broken bones were a common result. The logical conclusion was that his advance, however impetuous, had not been entirely unwelcome after all. His racing heart found another burst of speed.
She read his thoughts; they must all have been in his eyes. A trace of sadness entered her face, and a slow, sympathetic smile curved her lips. "I'm sorry, Peridan," she said. "No."
For all that he expected it, the blow was still crushing. For a moment Peridan could only breathe; pulling air into his lungs demanded all his concentration. At length he thought he might risk speech: he gathered his wandering wits, preparing something properly courtly and humble -- your majesty's wishes are mine -- but what emerged from his traitor lips was, "Why?" He was horrified by the plaintive demand. He made to apologize, to call it back, but his throat closed on the sounds.
Her lovely face creased into sorrow, and her fingers tightened over his. "Oh, Peridan." The comforting hand loosened, slipped away, rose to touch his face instead. "I can't return what you offer," she said, "and I won't hurt such a friend by giving you half of what you want."
Something in his chest eased. He had gambled; he had not won, but perhaps he had not lost, either. "We are still friends, then?"
"I hope we may be." Cool grey eyes met his levelly. "I should rather have you as a long friend than a brief lover."
He ought to keep silent, but some perverse impulse seized his tongue. "Need it be brief?"
"As things stand now."
"Now." There was something encouraging about that. "And... later?"
"I cannot say. I am... not ready to consider such things." She lifted pleading eyes to his.
Realization crashed in. He stepped closer, slid an arm around her in comforting embrace. "Then I shall be your friend, as you wish, for as long as you wish. And you will tell me if you ever wish something more of me -- or not. Either way, I shall still be your loyal knight all my days." Peridan lifted her hand, brushing a kiss against her fingers just below her signet in token of his pledge.
Original Prompt that we sent you: Any or all of the following:
--Golden Age as physical adults and/or England post LWW as mental adults.
--Susan & Peridan, ideally Susan/Peridan.
--Edmund & Susan meeting of minds, beyond what Lucy or Peter could ever understand.
--Undercover Edmund being all stealthy and/or kickass with a blade.
--Edmund & Peter, brothers in arms, discussing adult things over drink.
--The horrors of having an adult mind/soul in a pubescent/teenage body.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Edmund's sword; sehnsucht; "Enjoy the silence"; dissonance and resolution; the turrets of Cair Paravel.
What I definitely don't want in my fic: anyone "rolling their eyes" every two paragraphs or having "chocolate brown eyes". They're so overused in fic, and it makes me roll my chocolate brown eyes! Anything too AU, Lucy-centric, Susan "not a friend of Narnia," post TLB, or incest, please.
Author:
lady_songsmithRecipient:
snitchnippedRating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: In which Edmund and Susan discover that Rabadash manages to be a pain even when he’s an ass.
Part 1
That ride changed things. He wasn’t certain whether the queen opened up to him or if his eyes were simply opened to what was already there, but from that day Peridan was aware of a change in her. She was still as gracious and commanding as ever, of course, and he doubted any of Narnia’s guests suspected aught amiss. But he saw, as the guests did not, as likely only her siblings and perhaps her guards saw, that the weight of duty pressed on her overmuch, and the Cair had become a trap for her. As the days passed, it became more evident that she didn’t want to be inside. Her restlessness was evident, and he wished wholeheartedly for Bacchus to visit. His queen could have used that wild release. But no Narnian god is tame, to appear on command, and Bacchus least of all. The days wore on and he did not come, so Peridan’s queen had to content herself with picnics and mayings and dancing amongst bonfires. No hunts; it was not the season and the foreigners had trouble telling animals from Animals. Instead Queen Susan organized ‘hunts’ for other things: rare flowers, oddly shaped stones, and once she arranged a competition, brought by the sovereigns from Spare Oom, which sent the court hither and yon after a motley collection of items and which she termed a ‘scavenger hunt’. The competitors certainly behaved like scavengers, quarreling over every little bit they find.
“Competition,” she observed, as they rode slowly along after the pack, “inevitably reveals a man’s nature.”
Peridan thought this over before he spoke, for he’d heard the sentiment before but did not think his queen meant it the same way. In most nations they would say the victor was the best man. But this was Narnia, where everyone from the hummingbirds to the centaurs were valued for their natures, and he had once heard Queen Lucy laugh herself sick at a proposal of trial by combat. He watched the two lords from Telmar cruelly spurring their horses on, and felt his lips twist in disgust. No Narnian would ever treat a horse so, dumb or talking. “Because a man displays his character in the manner by which he competes?” he ventured, and was rewarded by one of her brilliant smiles.
“Just so,” she answered. “It is not for our love of battle that we host tournaments here.”
He knew tournaments were a common entertainment when important guests visited. He had even fought in a few himself. But Peridan had never considered it was more than a tradition shared with most eastern nations, nor had he realized – as he did now – that the tournaments always followed the guests, never the guests the tourneys. He thought of the last one Narnia had hosted, and saw a flaw in this theory of characters.
He opened his mouth to say this, then hesitated. Ought he bring up Rabadash? As far as he knew, no one had breathed his name directly to her since their return. Even the envoys so keen to discuss (complain about) his fate spoke to her of ‘the Tisroc’s heir.’ She had raised the topic of tournaments. Peridan had never known her to run from unpleasantness before. “Not all men show their natures, though,” he said, hoping he was not making a grave mistake. “For Rabadash conducted himself admirably at tourney, and yet proved a black villain.”
The queen’s guards, loping along beside them, skewered him with fierce glares, but he kept his eyes on Queen Susan’s face, waiting for her response. She had not gasped or paled when he spoke the name, nor did she tremble with fear or rage. He waited.
“It’s true a man can hide much of his nature, if he wishes to,” she said. Her tone was light, easy; Peridan relaxed. Her guard did not, but he thought they would forgive him eventually. “It must be planned, though. To conceal some aspect of yourself you must push forward some other facet. To lie outright is impossible to sustain.”
He turned that over, feeling there was something wrong with it but unable to say what. “Even if you are a very good actor?” He thought of the spies he knew Narnia used. Not all of them were Animals small enough to go unnoticed.
“Have you ever spoken with any of the troupes that perform here?”
That wasn’t quite what he’d meant. Acting on stage was a different matter – wasn’t it? He admitted that he hadn’t, at least not about their craft, and the queen smiled. “You should,” she said, “it’s informative. A successful actor never plays anyone but himself. It’s just a matter of finding that part closest to the character, and bringing it forward.” They watched a lady from the Seven Isles flirting with a man from Vraeld – successfully distracting him while her teammate made off with a shed antler. “Rabadash could not hide his arrogance, but there are few princes who do not suffer from that sin. To hide his cruelty, though…” She sighed. “Did you note how curious he was, how eager to see all things Narnian?”
“Yes,” Peridan agreed. “I remember I thought it odd, for a prince of Calormen to be so taken with things of the barbarian north.”
“And as you know, he does scorn us. But the curiosity was not a lie; he has both a fascination with the exotic and a desire to know things.” She pursed her lips, considering. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he wishes to have no secrets kept from him, for he certainly does not seek knowledge for its own sake. Still, many a king has raised libraries on the strength of such desires. So. To cover one trait, another brought forward. That it made him seem more friendly to Narnia than his father did no harm either.”
“Is that how he fooled the Beasts?” Peridan glanced at the Serval pacing beside his queen. Little escaped the sharp noses of Narnian Beasts. He had wondered why Rabadash’s motives were such a surprise to the king and queen. They might have gone regardless, but he would have expected them to be fully briefed.
“Makeda?” Queen Susan prompted.
The big cat sighed, obviously reluctant to discuss such a failure. But she said, “The Calormene prince smelt of deception, but no worse than any other foreign dignitary. They’re all hiding something,” she added in disgust. Peridan smiled slightly. The Narnian preference for honesty was truly a Narnian trait. Even Archenland and Galma twisted their tongues around lies more readily. “Beyond that, he was sincere. What he said outright was truth when he spoke it, and he hid his cruelty well.”
“In Calormen,” he started, then stopped, reconsidering the thought. And the wording. Particularly the wording – the Guard was ready to skewer him as it was; if he started tossing around anything that sounded like an accusation he wouldn’t be allowed within shouting distance of the queen ever again. Besides which… “There weren’t any Beasts with us in Calormen,” he said slowly. “Only Sallowpad and a few other Birds.” Their majesties had even forgone the feline and canine half of their guard, something practically unheard of. The monarchs always had one Beast with them. The Panther Narai had even condescended to wear a collar, once, that he might pretend to be queen Susan’s pet, in Navarus. “You did not have the benefit of their perception.” In more ways than one, he thought, recalling a rumor that had swept their embassy. How had she been certain her… visits with the prince were safe? It wasn’t his place to ask. Even to think about it was presumptuous, really. Hoping he wasn’t blushing, Peridan forced his thoughts back to politics. Pure politics, that is, not – Now he was certain he was blushing. Desperately hoping to change the subject, he blurted, “Why were there no beasts with us?”
“Good question,” Makeda muttered.
“Makeda,” Queen Susan warned. “We have had this conversation.”
“And I didn’t like it then, either! Why should we bow to the Tisroc’s wishes?” She was all but spitting, every inch the angry cat. “We never have before! Even when no one remembered Narnia had talking Animals, and we had to pretend to be dumb beasts so as not to frighten them overmuch. And we went to Calormen with both of the kings! Why not this time?”
“Makeda –“
“I would like to know too, your majesty,” Peridan put in humbly, “if you would tell me. And I have not had this argument before, as Makeda clearly has.”
She turned her attention from Makeda to him, the faint signs of temper fading. “True.” She glanced across the field, at the questing nobles, then, satisfied they were happily occupied, turned back to Peridan. “The Tisroc specifically requested it, for the comfort of his court. Given that we sought his good will, it would have been impolitic to disregard a direct request.”
Peridan wondered if he might get a different answer did he ask King Edmund. Something to keep in mind. “I can see where that would be difficult,” he said, “but I had not thought Narnia would consent to reduce her defense at another lord’s request.”
“Had it compromised our safety we should not have agreed,” Queen Susan replied. “The Tisroc did not ask us to forgo our Guard, only to choose them more selectively. It was an acceptable compromise.”
But it had compromised her safety. If a Beast had been with them, been in her private councils with the prince as her Guard must be, surely his deception would have come out earlier? Before he had proposed that their negotiations be sealed by marriage, well before the queen had – considered the matter so thoroughly. Not sure how to say this, he glanced at Makeda. Judging from her bristled fur, the queen was the only one who thought the arrangement had been satisfactory. “If you had to do it again,” he began impulsively, then stopped. There was no polite way to finish that sentence, was there?
"I should do the same," she said. "We talked it to death beforehand, Lord Peridan. None of us wished to leave half our Guard behind. But you do not begin an embassy of peace by bringing those your host has specifically uninvited."
"They would have sensed--"
"I am aware." Her voice had gone frosty.
He reined in, dropping back deferentially. "My apologies, your majesty."
"Consider, Lord Peridan, that we have already reviewed the matter at length,"
It was sometimes difficult to tell, outside formal court, when the kings and queens were employing the royal plural and when they were referring to their family. In this case, though he was certain they had discussed it together, he rather suspected the former, which made it a show of temper. He bowed as well as one could from the saddle. "Of course, your majesty. My tongue outpaced my thoughts: forgive me."
The queen nodded, but there was no smile to soften it, nor did she invite him back to her side. Instead she looked away, then, as is remarking on the weather, said, "We must attend to our guests." She put her heels to the horse's flanks and was well away before Peridan had finished bowing his acknowledgment of the dismissal.
* * *
Several weeks after their return from Calormen, the influx of visitors finally overwhelmed Susan’s patience. “If they hate us so much, why are they all here?”
“It won’t last forever,” Edmund said, putting down the trade reports she’d given him to read. They were alone in the small library on the royal wing, working their way through a thick pile of correspondence. “When he changes back, safe and sound, a lot of it will die down.” Susan said nothing, though the stab of her pen against the paper was eloquent. “In the meantime, we should turn this to our advantage.”
“Half of the eastern nations hate us, Edmund,” Susan said tartly. “There isn’t much advantage in that.”
“They don’t hate us. They fear us. There’s a great deal of advantage to be had there.”
Susan tipped her head to one side, her gaze distant. “Oderint, dum metuant?” she said slowly, pulling the syllables from air.
The words seemed familiar to Edmund, but it wasn’t any tongue he knew. Something from Before; nothing else had that queer sort of deja vu. He shook his head, and Susan blinked free of the reverie. “Do you think it’s quite wise to encourage that fear? It may turn on us.”
Edmund sat back in his chair, considering. Susan’s caution was never unfounded; it was just a question of whether the benefits outweighed the risks. “I don’t propose to encourage them to fear us,” he answered, thinking as he spoke. “But so long as they do, it can’t hurt to implant a few ideas.” His sister turned a pointed look on him, laying down her pen with precision, and he amended, “It will only hurt if we’re not careful.”
“What ideas, specifically, were you considering?”
“Just the truth: Rabadash brought it on himself by threatening us. We have no quarrel with anyone who treats us with the respect they’re all so keen to claim for themselves.” All right, perhaps he’d heard that speech from ambassadors a few too many times. With a conscious effort he pushed the bitterness from his voice. “If they treat in good faith they have nothing to fear -- but we will defend ourselves. And our allies,” he continued. “It might be worth pointing out that it was Archenland he was -- sentenced -- in. Narnia was only there as an ally.”
Amusement twinkled in Susan’s eyes. “As though you didn’t want the sentencing of him yourself.”
“True.” He was trying not to indulge pleasant fantasies of having the prince horsewhipped back to Tashbaan. Aslan had decided, after all. And he supposed Rabadash would find it humiliating. Edmund didn’t see what was so terrible about being an animal, personally. “But Lune had first rights.” He sat up, reaching for the pitcher, and poured them both more cider. “Which might not be a bad point to make.”
“And transfer this annoyance to the shoulders of an ally?” He heard the lightly scolding note in her voice, but also interest.
“Some of it?” he offered. “It is interesting that we’re taking all the blame for Aslan’s actions in Archenland.”
Susan raised one shoulder in eloquent shrug. “People hear ‘lion’, they think Narnia. Something we haven’t been at pains to alter.”
“I should say not.” Just from where he sat he could count five images of lions; seven if you counted the signets he and Susan both wore. Even their currency bore the motif, and since they’d laid claim to most of the northern Ocean, their coin had become a standard, much as Calormen’s crescent in the south. When debts from Brigweald to Narrowhaven were counted in Lions, Edmund supposed he couldn’t be surprised by the automatic association. “Still, I’d like to know just what they think we could do. Call a god to heel?”
“Our pet demon, rather. Or illusion, depending on whose stories you prefer.” Susan was utterly placid, sipping her cider like tea and gazing over Edmund’s head out the window.
Edmund snorted, and tipped his chair back on two legs, kicking one foot up on another chair. (The table would be more comfortable, but the subsequent scolding would not.) “Just because their local gods prefer to take human form...”
“Did you read Chione’s treatise on that?” Susan broke in, snapping back into focus. She set her cup down and leaned forward over the table. “She has a notion about the gods being shaped by their worshipers --”
“Su,” he interrupted, before she could get going. “Theology later?” He was sorry to say it, since as it happened, he had read Chione‘s latest work, and he would love to discuss it with Susan. Lucy’s interest in theology began and ended with Aslan, and Peter claimed the subject gave him a headache, contenting himself instead with the mere practicalities, like knowing never to mention a number of gods in a mixed group of Navarus and Vraeld -- one of the many things they fought about was whether there were eleven or twenty-two gods, and they could and would argue all day over Vested Duality -- if they didn’t come to blows first.
Susan caught herself, sitting back and arranging her features placidly. "Quite right." She paused, ordering her thoughts, and resumed, "I do see the merits of your argument, brother. Certainly those wary of giving offense have been easier to deal with, and I should like to see broader policy favor Narnia. I am not convinced, however, that encouraging wariness which is already shading into resentment is the wisest course. Furthermore -- on a purely practical level -- spreading such rumors will be difficult, given these injunctions against Beasts." Her lips purses in distaste at the very idea, and Edmund agreed -- banning good Narnians on the basis of their form, indeed!
"It would be more complicated, admittedly," he said. "But the bulk of the whisper-work falls to smaller Beasts. They cannot possibly prevent every bird or squirrel from crossing the border, talking or dumb."
"And when they betray themselves by speaking, as they will have to do?"
"Susan," Edmund said patiently, "If they do their job right, no one will know who was speaking. You can't start pro-Narnian rumors by putting them in the mouths of Narnians."
"It's dangerous."
"It's always been dangerous." He traced a nail over the engraved patterns on his goblet. "We do have more humans available for this sort of work these days, though. You might take some when you go."
"Go?" Susan echoed, blinking at him guilelessly.
Edmund made an impatient noise. "Come now, sister, to whom do you think you're speaking? You're planning a trip west - I haven't worked out whether it's Vraeld or Navarus yet, but that hardly matters to the topic at hand."
"Fentel, actually," Susan murmured.
He acknowledged the correction with a nod. "Anywhere you go in the west would be a potential site for seeding rumors; if we put a few of my better people in your retinue they can do the tavern-rounds while you're charming the nobility."
"And when they get caught and I have to explain to King Farn why I've brought spies into his kingdom?"
He mimed being shot to the heart. "I wouldn't send you with anyone fool enough to get caught! What sort of brother d'you take me for?"
She raised her goblet to drink, but not before he'd seen the corner of her lips twitch upwards. Counting it a success, he dropped the hand and the act. "My people know the risks," he told her seriously. "You can disavow all knowledge; they won't expect otherwise."
"Will it be believed, though?"
"Officially or unofficially? Su, the game hasn't changed. Do you really need me to tell you these things?"
"Maybe I'd just like to have all the angles covered before we get in over our heads again!" Susan snapped, slapping her cup down so hard the cider sloshed over the rim.
Edmund started back, setting his chair rocking precariously. Hastily tipping it back to four legs, he stared at his sister. "Su," he began carefully, "there was no way to predict that Rabadash—"
She cut him off with an oath so foul it made his eyes bug out. He'd not heard that one outside a few dockside taverns of a particular reputation; he didn't want to imagine how his sister learned it. "No way to predict?" she echoed. "The way he treated his servants, commoners, nobles not in his favor -- we didn't know that? We couldn't find out?"
"We've made alliance with worse," Edmund pointed out tensely. "We knew he was an arse; we didn't know he was an idiot."
Susan gripped the edge of the table till her knuckles went white. "That idiot nearly had Anvard. It was sheer luck Lady Aravis heard his plans, and if those two children hadn't raced all the way here to warn us—"
"Then we would have called out the army and met him at the border. Two hundred horse is a strike force, not an invasion; they would not have held Anvard for long."
"He wouldn't need to hold it long to kidnap us," Susan snapped back. He could see her breathing hard, struggling for calm. "And then ransom--"
"Peter would have destroyed him," Edmund broke in gently, keeping his voice level and even. "You know he'd never bargain with someone who threatened any of us. Rabadash was a fool to think we'd forgive such a thing even if no blood was spilled. Hell, Lucy would have been hard on his heels long before Peter got back from the north."
"I don't want Lucy in Calormen either!" she shouted, and Edmund froze. There was more going on than he'd realized. Maybe you shouldn't go, he almost said, bit his tongue on it just in time. Questioning her competency certainly wouldn't help.
"Susan," he said instead, very quietly, "we would never have allowed him to lay a hand on you."
She shot him such a disgusted glare that he recoiled involuntarily. "Very noble of you, brother, but I can defend my own honor -- such as it is."
That caught him, and he swallowed his first response, waiting until his brain was properly engaged before he spoke: "It wasn't your fault." The glare intensifies, she opened her mouth but he put up a hand to stop her. "It doesn't help. I know. And Lion knows I'm not going to argue with you about it. But it needed to be said at least once. so. Now it's been said." He took a deep breath, arranging phrases in his head. "You can't prevent a repetition by second-guessing every move. Plan for it instead." Reaching across the table, he pried her fingers from the edge and twined his own with them. "If Farn does take offense at our people, what can we do?"
"Not abandon them," she gritted out, tugging at their joined hands.
"They know the risks." He kept his voice steady, refusing to let go. "Susan, you aren't thinking like a queen."
Strangely, that seemed to calm her. Edmund watched, wary, as the tight line of her lips relaxed and her hand went quiet in his. "You're right."
He eyed her, not quite trusting this sudden calm. "Well, it had to happen sometime," he joked, trying to make light of it.
She smiled thinly, without mirth. "I must remember my duty. We don't have the luxury of indulging ourselves."
That wasn't what he'd meant, but before he could draw breath to argue, Susan continued, "If worse comes to worst, I suppose we could claim sanctuary. Do remind your people of it, too."
"I shall, though I doubt many would take it." He racked his brain for the details of Fentel's long-standing and often-used traditions of sanctuary. "Don't they require an oath of faith?"
"Yes," she answered breezily, "but it can be to any god, if there isn't an appropriate temple nearby."
Edmund frowned. There's a nuance missing there, he was sure of it, but he couldn't call it to mind. "I would prefer not to be dependent on the Fentelisi for your protection. We must ensure you have a choice of exit routes -- swift and discreet, by preference."
Susan laughed mirthlessly. “Since when has anything we did been discreet?”
Edmund raised a brow. That was cynical even for one of them, and moreover, inaccurate — for a woman who valued precision as much as Susan did, she’d been making fairly wild statements today. All in all it added up to a worrying portrait. “Not everything has to be a pageant,” he said, deliberately keeping his tone light. She wouldn’t be jollied, but scolding rarely worked either. He’d already used up his luck on that score. Calm and reasonable was the best bet. “It only has to be a secret until it’s too late for Fentel to do anything.”
She was quiet for a time. Edmund tried not to hold his breath, waiting. “How were you planning to exit an entire royal delegation in any sort of secrecy?”
“Well,” he began, fumbling a little.
Anticipating him — at least that had not changed — she said, “I would not leave anyone to the mercies of an offended prince.”
He could see the moment Susan heard — really heard — what she had said. Her eyes widened slightly and a faint blush tinged her cheeks. Her lips parted, and for a moment Edmund thought she might correct herself but then she closed her mouth firmly, lips pressed into a tight line. He said, “There’s a difference between abandoning and prioritizing, Su.”
“I know,” she admitted, but the high color was still in her cheeks.
Very softly, Edmund said, “I can’t let you come to harm.”
Mistake. She flared up, glaring fiercely at him. “I do not need to be protected! I certainly do not need anyone to make grand sacrifices on my behalf!”
“You’re a queen,” he snapped right back. “You don’t get a choice about it!”
“I’ve never asked —”
“You don’t have to ask! It’s just the way things are, the way they’ve been since the moment we stumbled into the Winter.” He checked, then, and softened his tone. “You don’t have to like it, either. Lion knows I don’t. But you do have to accept it. Or I’ll lock you in a room with Dhara,” he added wryly. Peter’s Cheetah bodyguard and the head of the Royal Guard was a formidable personality, and had strong opinions on her sovereigns risking themselves carelessly.
“I’ve had enough of people dying for us,” Susan said.
* * *
“Susan is going to Fentel.”
King Edmund’s announcement came in the midst of a sparring match, and Peridan nearly missed blocking a swipe that would have taken his head off in a real fight. “I had not heard,” he grunted, struggling to lever the king’s blade away from his throat. He finally got a good shove in, muscles screaming, and the king disengaged, coming back around with a cut to Peridan’s thigh.
“I want you to go with her,” he said as they found a rhythm again.
“I? Your majesty –“
“I need someone I can trust.” He launched a quick series of strikes that pressed Peridan back a few steps before he could find an opening to return the attack. “She won’t have any Beasts –“
“Again?” he exclaimed, dismayed. His blade faltered; Edmund attacked.
“Surely you’ve heard half the western lands have banned Talking Animals from their domains.” Peridan had no idea how he was holding up a serious conversation and a full-speed spar. “They won’t make exception even for a royal delegation.”
“Why go, then?” he protested, attacking fiercely in hopes of ending the bout so he could devote his attention to the discussion. A man needed all the wits he could muster to keep up with the Just King.
“Because someone has to assure them that we’re not planning an invasion, or coup, or whatever it is they think we were trying with Rabadash.” Edmund feinted high, kicking out at the same time. Peridan’s leg went out from under him and he fell forward to one knee, freezing as he felt the king’s blade behind his neck. Well, he had wanted the fight ended.
“Yield,” he said, and the blade vanished. The king gave me a hand up, shaking his head.
“Too polite. You still had your sword; you could have hamstrung me before I finished the upswing.”
“Yes, sire,” Peridan said sheepishly. He did tend to forget they weren’t under tourney rules. It seemed dishonorable to use such tactics in a friendly bout, but both kings (and the army commanders) believed in training as they fought.
They collected water gratefully from a servant standing outside the ring, leaning against the fencing to drink. “I trust you won’t be polite to anyone coming after my sister,” Edmund said.
Reminded, Peridan turned back to the last point. “Why her majesty? If you or the High King were to go, she could stay here where it’s safe.”
“I would like to hear you say that to Susan,” he replied wryly. “But only from a distance.”
Peridan thought of the conversation they’d had about Calormen and winced. “She would not want to be sheltered, would she?”
“Never,” Edmund agreed.
“Sire,” he began, a little shyly, “why do we allow others – first the Tisroc, now King Farn – to dictate which of our own people may travel with us?”
Edmund looked at him oddly; he had the uncomfortable sense he had asked a more foolish question than he knew. “Why do you give ground when your opponent attacks hard?”
“Many reasons,” Peridan began. Among them simply being unable to hold, if the opponent was stronger. But he doubted that was what the king meant. “To find a more advantageous position for counter-attack. To lure him onto worse ground. To lull him into overconfidence. To let him spend his energy while you gain a respite.”
“Exactly,” Edmund said, satisfied. “There are any number of advantages in letting an adversary believe he has the momentum.”
“But this is not a battle,” he objected, “and we hamper ourselves by abandoning the Beasts’ good senses.”
“Other courts manage without them.” But Peridan could tell, from the way Edmund would not look at him, that he agreed.
“Other courts are not Narnia, sire. Should we not use all that we are?”
“Sometimes it’s better not to show your full hand.”
Peridan knew he was pushing, but he didn’t try to censor himself. Something deep with urged him to ask these things, to understand. “By choice, certainly. Is it the same to be forbidden the use of half a deck?”
Edmund tipped his head, slanting a sly look sideways at him. “Who says we’re playing by their rules?”
“Sire?”
He gave Peridan a patient look. “Of course I’m not sending her without any Animals, not after Calormen. But they’ll have to be small, and they’ll have to go in secret. That rules out anyone in the Guard.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling foolish indeed. “Then…”
“I need someone to protect her, someone unquestionably loyal. And—“ he checked himself suddenly, glancing around. “Walk with me, Peridan.”
Confused, but willing, Peridan fell into step beside him. He led them away from the busy training yards, out into the extensive grounds that surrounded Cair Paravel. “She’ll have the guard, of course,” the king said. “Those with something of a human shape, at least. But I fear the decrees regarding Beasts are only the beginning of this prejudice. I would not be at all surprised if Satyrs and Centaurs and the like were refused entrance to certain meetings at court – so I would place humans in my sister’s retinue.” He gazed seriously at Peridan, his eyes dark. “Should my fears come to pass, you would be her Guard, Lord Peridan. I would put her life in your hands with this assignment -- I trust you will not fail me.”
Stunned speechless, Peridan could not respond at first. Eventually he worked moisture into a fear-dry mouth, and said, “You honor me, majesty. I would give my life to defend the queen.”
“I know,” Edmund replied, serene. “That is why I chose you.” He tilted his head, running an assessing gaze over the nobleman. “You may refuse the assignment, my lord. I do not believe I made that clear before. We would not force you to accept such a mission.”
Peridan shook his head. “I know, your majesty. And I accept gladly. I wish to see Queen Susan safe as much as you do.” They walked a while longer, and Peridan said, “Is it such a secret that you want humans with her majesty?”
“Hm? Oh, no.” He shook himself out of deep thought. “No, that isn’t the secret.” Glancing behind him, he asked a silent question of his Guard. Peridan had scarcely noticed them following; one became used to the monarchs’ shadows. The Dog listened a moment, sniffed the air, then nodded at the king.
“Thank you, friend. The confidence, Peridan, is that I want someone who understands Su with her.” The tight rein he usually kept on his feelings loosened when he spoke. He looked, for a moment, impossibly young. Usually Peridan forgot that he had a half-decade on King Edmund; aside from that first, shocking meeting on the flagship, the kings had never struck him as children. Now they were men by anyone’s standards, the difference of years seemed less than insignificant. But with his concern for his sister writ across his face, Peridan remembered Edmund was but five-and-twenty, like the young naval officers he helped train. He thought of what he might say to one of them, but his mind kept getting stuck on the fact that it was Queen Susan they discussed. “You think she needs… a friend?”
“I do.” The mask slid back into place. Peridan felt a guilty relief at its restoration. Edmund clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a few steps, eyes on the stone path beneath his feet. “She’s… not been herself of late. But I think you know that already.” He lifted his head to look straight at Peridan, who flushed, feeling the guilty schoolboy. The king laughed, not unkindly. “I’ve noticed your attention to her mood, Peridan. And – I’m grateful. I…” Incredibly, he seemed to struggle with words. “I am not the best company of late. It is good she has someone else.”
He felt his cheeks burn hotter still. “Oh, well,” he stammered. “I’m sure their majesties—“
“Are considerate and concerned, but oft over-fond of ‘cheering up.’”
Peridan frowned. “I would have thought her majesty’s trouble an overabundance of merry company.”
“Precisely.” Edmund favored Peridan with such a satisfied look that he stood a hand’s breadth taller. “And if she is determined to go to Fentel and charm the westrons back into allies, I want her to have someone with her who knows when to be silent.” Then he blushed. “That didn’t come out right.”
He couldn’t help it; he broke down laughing. He had never seen King Edmund so out of sorts. He stared at Peridan a moment, then laughed with him, shaking his head at his own folly. “I have had that conversation with her majesty,” Peridan assured him breathlessly, when he could speak again. “I take your meaning, sire. And I would be honored to assist in any way I can.”
“Good!” Edmund clapped him on the shoulder. The hand lingered and squeezed, and Peridan felt the gratitude he did not speak. “You’ll have to join Susan in the planning sessions – I warn you, there will be a great many of them –“
“I don’t mind,” he replied mildly, and listened to the king sketch the trip for him. If he was going to accompany the queen, there was one thing he had to do first.
* * *
Over the years, by trial and error, Peter had learned to adapt himself to Susan's moods, sometimes even better than Edmund, despite the fact that he understood them less. He didn't speak at first when he came to join her on the broad balcony outside the reception hall, just wrapped an arm around her waist and stood watching the waves with her. She relaxed and leaned into that support, enjoying the quiet. But finally it had to break, so before he could grow too impatient, she said, "Talking me into or out of something?"
She heard the chuckle rumble in his chest beside her ear. "Just making sure you're certain about it. No one would blame you if you wanted to stay home for a while, you know."
"It needs to be done, Peter. Forget the trade routes -- the bad feelings will fester. We don't need another war."
"It doesn't have to be you, though."
Susan sighed. "I rather think it does," she said. "Lucy won't hear any criticism of Aslan, and Edmund's temper is too chancy these days."
He was silent for a moment. "I could go."
She twisted a little, craning her neck to look at him. "You hate leaving Narnia!"
Peter made a face at her. "So do you," he said, and she couldn't deny it. "We do it anyway."
"Mm." She considered, watching the waves rolling into the beach below. Far out in the water, dark shapes broke the surface. Too distant to see, in this light, whether they were merfolk or oceanids. "No," she said slowly, eyes still on the swimmers. "If you go, it's too much of a threat. They'll see the army even if you don't take any soldiers."
He sighed. "You're right, I know. I had to offer."
"Thank you, Peter."
"You do realize they'll hear of him changing back while you're there?"
"I'm counting on it," Susan said with great satisfaction. "He'll change back, none of us will be anywhere near him, and perhaps these sorcery rumors will die down. And I can point out that spending a single season shape-shifted is a mild punishment for invasion."
"Even for a prince?" Evidently Peter had been hearing the 'affront to royal dignity' arguments as well.
"We didn't kill him, maim him, or even demand ransom or recompense. Permanently changing him would be another matter; that's as good as dead, they way they see it. I doubt they really believe he'll change back, right now."
"Edmund said something similar." Peter turned and caught her by the shoulders, gazing down at her seriously. "If anything goes wrong, Su, you'll be in the middle of it."
"I know," she replied, tilting her head back to meet his eyes more comfortably. "I can't imagine his pride will keep him from appearing at the temple, though, so unless there's something Aslan didn't mention..."
"I'll leave a company in Lantern Waste. You'll have Birds with you?" She thought about pointing out that Animals of all kinds were barred from Fentel, decided it wasn't worth it, and nodded. "Good. Don't hesitate to send word. We can have griffins to you in a few hours, if need be."
Susan laughed softly, leaning her head against her brother's shoulder. "We've gone to war with less planning than this."
His arms wrapped around her, warm, comforting, and he dropped a kiss on top of her head. "We don't stint on the important things."
"This is an important thing?"
"Making sure you come home will always be important."
* * *
The difficulty in apologizing to Queen Susan was getting her to hear it. The first time Peridan tried, she waved him off with a smile anyone could have seen was insincere, and told him to forget it. It was nearly a week of stewing in deeply uncomfortable meetings before he could obtain another private audience. He had thought long on their conversation, and he wanted her to know he understood why she had been angered by his words. It was only when he finally succeeded in conveying this to her, making it clear he was not merely apologizing for making her angry, that she consented to hear him out. The sincere forgiveness he received was a weight lifted from his shoulders.
After that, the meetings became significantly less strained, though King Edmund was right, there were a lot of them. Peridan was more content to sit through them now that he no longer had to watch the queen pretending all was well between them. But then he discovered that Susan was not the only royal planning for the trip, when he was summoned to a small meeting with King Edmund and a handful of advisors to discuss security for the journey, and contingency plans for a reprise of Calormen.
“The court will go with you as far as Lantern Waste,” Edmund told him. “Lucy’s all a-twitter over the news Tumnus brought back - she’s determined to find the White Stag. That will give us an excuse to take along a few people who can slip quietly over the border before you, and be in place if you need them.”
It wasn’t the plans that were the problem, though. He fully approved of them. It was the other request the king had made that troubled his thoughts, and began to distract him at odd moments, even in private meeting with Queen Susan to go over the various personages they were to cultivate on the trip.
“Don’t tell Susan,” King Edmund had warned. “She won’t like it — and Lion willing, you won’t have to use any of this. She’ll never know.”
He was honored by the trust the king placed in him, and he wanted the queen kept safe — of course he did. Still, it sat ill to be keeping secrets from her, secrets that affected her directly. She was no child to be coddled so, and he knew how much stock she placed in information of all kinds. She would undoubtedly be furious, did she learn of it. He imagined explaining King Edmund’s plans in close, anxious council, as it had been in Tashbaan. A shudder ran through him; the argument would be fierce and brutal and he hadn’t a prayer of winning it.
“Peridan?” The queen had broken off her explanation and was gazing at him in some concern. “Are you chilled? We can shut the windows, if you like.”
“No, your majesty, the air is pleasant,” he replied quietly. “It was a passing thought, only. Please forgive my inattention.”
“Of course,” she said graciously, but rather than picking up the thread of the topic, she pushed aside her papers. “Is it anything I can help with?”
He started, then tried on a smile. “Half the kingdom’s troubles are not enough; you would take on mine also?” The light jest fell a little flat, perhaps because there was too much truth in it. He had no desire to add to her burdens.
“I would have you feel you can tell me anything.” She smiled at him, her eyes warm. He could feel a blush creep up his neck, and looked away.
“I… should be honest with your majesty.”
“I would hope so,” she encouraged gently.
Quickly, before he could get lost in a maze on conflicting loyalties again, Peridan let the tale spill out. “King Edmund has arranged certain plans to ensure your safety in Fentel. He asked me not to tell you —”
“He knows I would object to them.” She didn’t sound angry. He glanced up, and found her gazing out the windows at the westering light. “We had a… discussion about it some days ago.” Abruptly she turned back to him. “Why tell me?”
Startled, the truth dropped from his lips without thought. “Because you asked for honesty.” He shrugged slightly. “How can I ask for your trust if I keep secrets from you?”
She smiled brightly, and covered his hand with hers where it rested on the table. “Thank you, Peridan,” she said, leaning in slightly. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
In that moment, he felt hesitation fall away, shed snakeskin. Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers, soft, chaste. She allowed it -- even, he thought, answered -- for long moments. Then her hands rose between then and, resting on his shoulders, pushed him gently but firmly away.
Peridan felt his cheeks heat and heard the thrum of blood in his own ears. "I'm sorry," he said -- blurted, really. "I don't know what -- I do apologize, your majesty." He didn't quite dare meet her eyes, embarrassed by my forwardness. "I should not have presumed --"
But her hand covered his again gently, and she said, "Peridan," in such tones that he found the courage to look up. There was no anger in her eyes, nor fear either, which would have been worse. He realized then that the guard at her feet hadn't even twitched, and perhaps more to the point, the queen had not produced any blades. He had seen both queens deal with unwanted advances: broken bones were a common result. The logical conclusion was that his advance, however impetuous, had not been entirely unwelcome after all. His racing heart found another burst of speed.
She read his thoughts; they must all have been in his eyes. A trace of sadness entered her face, and a slow, sympathetic smile curved her lips. "I'm sorry, Peridan," she said. "No."
For all that he expected it, the blow was still crushing. For a moment Peridan could only breathe; pulling air into his lungs demanded all his concentration. At length he thought he might risk speech: he gathered his wandering wits, preparing something properly courtly and humble -- your majesty's wishes are mine -- but what emerged from his traitor lips was, "Why?" He was horrified by the plaintive demand. He made to apologize, to call it back, but his throat closed on the sounds.
Her lovely face creased into sorrow, and her fingers tightened over his. "Oh, Peridan." The comforting hand loosened, slipped away, rose to touch his face instead. "I can't return what you offer," she said, "and I won't hurt such a friend by giving you half of what you want."
Something in his chest eased. He had gambled; he had not won, but perhaps he had not lost, either. "We are still friends, then?"
"I hope we may be." Cool grey eyes met his levelly. "I should rather have you as a long friend than a brief lover."
He ought to keep silent, but some perverse impulse seized his tongue. "Need it be brief?"
"As things stand now."
"Now." There was something encouraging about that. "And... later?"
"I cannot say. I am... not ready to consider such things." She lifted pleading eyes to his.
Realization crashed in. He stepped closer, slid an arm around her in comforting embrace. "Then I shall be your friend, as you wish, for as long as you wish. And you will tell me if you ever wish something more of me -- or not. Either way, I shall still be your loyal knight all my days." Peridan lifted her hand, brushing a kiss against her fingers just below her signet in token of his pledge.
Original Prompt that we sent you: Any or all of the following:
--Golden Age as physical adults and/or England post LWW as mental adults.
--Susan & Peridan, ideally Susan/Peridan.
--Edmund & Susan meeting of minds, beyond what Lucy or Peter could ever understand.
--Undercover Edmund being all stealthy and/or kickass with a blade.
--Edmund & Peter, brothers in arms, discussing adult things over drink.
--The horrors of having an adult mind/soul in a pubescent/teenage body.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Edmund's sword; sehnsucht; "Enjoy the silence"; dissonance and resolution; the turrets of Cair Paravel.
What I definitely don't want in my fic: anyone "rolling their eyes" every two paragraphs or having "chocolate brown eyes". They're so overused in fic, and it makes me roll my chocolate brown eyes! Anything too AU, Lucy-centric, Susan "not a friend of Narnia," post TLB, or incest, please.
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-25 11:15 pm (UTC)First and foremost, thank you thank you thank you for this gift -- I am incredibly lucky to have received a fantastic story with both tremendous quality and quantity! Oh, Susan. All of the characterizations are just absolutely spot on, and I am so grateful that you did not leave Susan as the blubbering victim from HHB:
...and some of the versions making the rounds were less than flattering. She was not proud of her actions in Tashbaan, start to finish, but she was certain she had never broken down weeping helplessly, as one tale had it.
Ahahahahaha! I have always been a Susan sympathizer, have identified with her for most of my life, was heartbroken with what Lewis did to her, but you gave her role in Narnia such importance, such grace. Perfect.
And Peter & Edmund's talk early on, and the sharp humor sprinkled throughout, and Lucy tipping the cordial in Peter's wine... ha!
But WOW, the Susan & Peridan bits. So heartbreaking, especially with that small glimpse of a possibility that would never come to be with the Stagging. I threw Peridan in the prompt just as a lark, never expecting any bites, and I never expected anything so brilliant, so lovely, so heart-wrenching. I would love to read more of your Peridan some day. (Please?) I can go on and on and I look forward to discussing all of this much, much more once the reveals are up and I get another read or two in.
But again, thank you, Mystery Writer. Just brilliant.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-10 02:14 am (UTC)I'm afraid I haven't much other Peridan, unless you count the part where I kill him off (sorry! I've been yelled at extensively for that one, and I am contemplating changing it, but oh, the angst is SUCH fun!), but he was great fun to write and I do love him. Possibly someday I might backtrack and write some younger Peridan, but I don't know.
The sibling interaction is always one of my favorite parts about writing Narnia. The brothers in particular make banter so easy to write, I love it. I tried to get some discussion of women and other adult things in there for you, but they had weightier matters on their minds, I'm afraid.
Thanks for the review, and I'd love to discuss anything you like!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-11 07:56 pm (UTC)And I do understand... I do love the angst, too. And Lewis really does not leave any room for happy endings outside of True Narnia, so it's almost blasphemous to give one to any of the characters. Which is really tough, I'm learning, 'cause a part of my brain thinks, "Then what's the point?" But then I think of the small bits of bliss and understand.
Which is why I wouldn't mind just an eensy more bliss for good ol' Peridan. :D
I'm approaching it delicately in my next one, too. Not much at all, though, 'cause the timing would be way off, but I'm slowly setting things up (for a story that I probably will never get around to writing.)
But you got the balance right of what I like -- not a full out romance by any means. It's just a nice accessory sprinkled in amongst the real meat of the matter. And a lot of your scenes were absolutely carnivorous! I could read your Edmund and Susan all day. And, yes, your Peridan. Why don't more people write about him, anyway?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-11 08:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-11 09:06 pm (UTC)Man, the guy just can't catch a break! ;)
It better be good and angst-rific. I'm talking sobbing-in-pillow-under-the-covers, reaching for the bottle, cursing the heavens angsty.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-11 10:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-26 01:17 am (UTC)Edmund's fears about leaving Narnian defenses vulnerable to attack... the mention about how easily Calormen can take them in the sea... foreshadowing to what actually happens in the Last Battle perhaps?
Susan's thoughts on really managing things at home--not just household affairs but dealing with traders and markets and a shifting economy that's going badly for Narnia thanks to what happened. It's wonderful how we really begin to see what skills she has and uses in her role as Queen.
And Peridan, Peridan, Peridan. What a fabulous background devised for him, and I adored how we saw a bit from his perspective. You've given him such depth, and I enjoyed watching him looking out for his Queen while she has her own troubles to deal with. And the ending was sweet, with just the right amount of romance and affection... a little teasing, some possibilities, but it was nice to see both of them come to some understanding with each other.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-10 02:07 am (UTC)Susan strikes me as very much the true medieval chatelaine, which is a lot harder than historical dramas and romances like to paint it. You've got to be something of a jack-of-all-trades for that job, and you've got to be very, very good at accounting for things, because if you don't have the supplies, people die. It's not like you can just run out to the grocery store if you run out of bread. And when you start dealing with organizing all that, you also deal with personalities (and Personalities!) so you have to be a diplomat too.
I'm very glad the ending worked for you! I fretted over the romance development - too fast, too slow, not enough on-screen, etc.
thanks for the review!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-26 02:26 am (UTC)The use of and reflections of the Beasts was also something on which I'm always very fond and if you assume (as I do) that the Beasts would have/should have sensed more of Rabadash's duplicity, there must be a reason for why they were not in Tashbaan. So, excellent work in fleshing out that bit of meta.
Also terrific are the politics of just how Narnia's allies and trading partners would view Rabadash's conversions. Those were very, very well done and I really enjoyed reading the different views as well as the idea of how fears of "magic" keep Narnian goods out of certain countries.
Great job!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-10 01:56 am (UTC)And yes, of course the Beasts - and you were a huge factor in that, because having read your stuff it's impossible NOT to take into consideration what their senses might pick up.
Thanks for reviewing!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-26 03:40 am (UTC)I love all the little world-building touches, like the theological treatises on gods reflecting the forms of their worshippers, the reasons for the strength of the Narnian navy, dryads force-growing food in the heart of the Winter, the different types of guests in summer and winter, the slight but important pronunciation difference between animal and Animal, and so on. As
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-10 01:48 am (UTC)I would not have liked to be the one who had to explain to the Tisroc why his son was a donkey. There's just no way that ends well.
Worldbuilding is this incurable disease of mine... :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-26 05:54 pm (UTC)Really nice touches with the worldbuilding - I especially liked the ideas of the Narnian navy. It's great to see how the magic of Narnia infuses everything that happens and they do.
Thanks for sharing this!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-26 10:18 pm (UTC)YES. Seconded.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-10 01:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-29 03:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-10 01:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-23 11:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-23 11:33 pm (UTC)